


You'll Follow Me Down

by nu_breed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s02e19 Folsom Prison Blues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:26:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam thinks Dean's plan sucks for a whole slew of reasons, but he's not talking. Dean doesn't give up that easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Follow Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [](http://veronamay.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronamay**](http://veronamay.livejournal.com/) who put this idea in my head months ago. Thanks to [](http://alwayseven.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://alwayseven.livejournal.com/)**alwayseven** for the beta.

Dean pitches the plan to him the night before, over bourbon in the motel room. The idea itself is so insane that Sam laughs for a full five minutes before he realises Dean's being serious.

"Think about it, Sam. How else are we supposed to handle this case?" Dean knocks back another glass and crunches on the ice cubes semi-melted at the bottom. Crunchcrunchcrunch and Sam can't even hear himself think. From the look on Dean's face, that's the intention.

"Stop crunching for a minute and listen, would you?" Sam rubs the bridge of his nose. He can feel a headache coming on; combination of Dean's crunching, the alcohol and the stupidest plan Dean's ever come up with in his entire life. "I don't think we should take this case. Not if that's your plan."

"What?" Dean says around a mouthful of ice, "Why not?"

"I just don't, okay?" Sam thinks he'd do anything right now to avoid this conversation, he just wants the subject buried. "You know what? I'm tired, Dean. How about we skip the inevitable argument tonight, hmm?"

Dean shrugs. "Suit yourself. If all you're gonna do is sit there PMSing, I'm going drinking. There was this hot little redhead bartender there last night. She looked kinda kinky."

Sam remembers. He always remembers what _they_ look like.

"Good. Hopefully she'll put a ballgag on you and never take it off and the world'll be much, much happier."

"You're so fucking predictable, " Dean's smirking now and Sam wants to grab Dean by the hair and acquaint his pretty little face with the floor. "It's just not even a challenge to make you jealous anymore."

Dean slaps him on the back and grabs his jacket from the bed. Sam doesn't even have time to protest that he isn't jealous, not one bit, because Dean is back and up in his face. His breath's warm and smells like liquor and Sam holds his breath, closes his eyes when Dean's mouth ghosts over his jawline.

"Don't wait up," Dean whispers, and he's out the door before Sam can even exhale.

Fucker.

***

Dean isn't home by the time Sam wakes up, and Sam can't help but laugh. It's so typical Dean; punishing Sam for bad behaviour. He'd do this kind of shit when they were kids all the time, disappear to make Sam stew for a few hours then come back and act like nothing'd happened.

It's a little different now of course. Instead of heading to the arcade, Dean goes to bars and fucks random women. To make Sam pay. To make him jealous.

It works of course. Like fucking clockwork. Sam can feel his jaw clench up at just the thought of Dean on his knees, face between a pair of creamy thighs, and Sam's up on his feet and in the shower, bringing himself off with long, rough strokes. Breathing in steam as he comes, eyes shut and seeing Dean pushing him to his knees, fucking his mouth the way Sam likes it.

He eats at the diner, stack of pancakes with maple syrup and bacon and black coffee. The waitress, Eva, has a killer smile and one of those gorgeous Latina figures. She's built like a woman, with a great ass and tits that are real.

She sits down to talk to him when her shift's over. She's saving for college, wants to go to USC film school, and Sam feels completely relaxed around her. It's the most Sam's talked to anyone besides Dean in weeks, and it's refreshing to have a conversation with someone new, someone who isn't involved in a case. Someone who's interested in him.

He likes it. The attention. It makes him forget about Dean's mouth and hands all over someone else, someone with fake hair and faker tits, who probably screams like a fucking banshee when she comes.

Sam can vaguely hear the door open and shut a couple of times, hear the bell above the door, go, but he's not really concentrating on anything but Eva. She's flirting shamelessly with him, and he doesn't mind. It's refreshing.

"Well, isn't this cosy?" Sam looks up to see Dean leaning on the counter, watching. He walks over and slides into the booth right next to Sam.

Dean's voice is made of sex, raspy and fucked-out and Sam can feel his body reacting, whether he wants to or not.

Dean is pressed up so tight next to him, that Sam can feel their thighs pressed together. He tries to move away a little, but Dean looks up at him, mouth curled upward, and shakes his head.

"Nice to see you made it back in one piece." Sam mutters. He looks across at Eva's confused face, and adds, "Eva, this is my brother Dean. Dean, Eva. She's off-duty now. We were just _talking_."

"Hi there," Eva shifts in her seat. It's obvious that a brother wasn't part of the equation, and her prospects of hooking up just went out the window. Sometimes Sam wonders if it's obvious to people like Eva, if they can sense there's a vibe when he and Dean are in the same room that isn't altogether... brotherly.

"I'm so glad you're makin' new friends, Sammy." Dean's voice is strained, and he has that not-smile on his face that he gets when he's being painfully polite to people whilst wanting to do something else to them entirely. "Sweetheart, you couldn't go wrangle me some coffee, could you? I'd really appreciate it. Need to talk to the bro here, just for a minute."

Dean gets his hand on Sam's thigh under the table, and squeezes.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Sam hisses, flinches as Dean's hand moves between his legs, forcing his thighs to open, skating dangerously close to his cock.

"She's hot, Sam. Bet she thought she was getting the fuck of the century when you walked in here. Think she'd want to know what I'm doing to you?" Dean's mouth is close to his ear, and Sam can feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. "Think she'd wanna know that you're such a fucking slut for my cock that you'd let me get you off right here, where anyone can see? Think she'd wanna watch you on your knees with your dirty little mouth on me?"

"Fuck you, Dean."

"Not today." Dean's tracing the outline of Sam's cock with one finger, and it's too fucking much. Sam shoves Dean's hand away.

"Eva?" Sam calls out, his voice shaky, "I think we'll just grab the check. Some family stuff's come up."

"Sure." She looks disappointed, scowl marring her pretty features, and Sam glares at Dean before gesturing for him to stand up.

Dean grabs the check, and pushes a couple of dollar bills into Eva's hand.

"So lovely to meet you, darlin'. Really."

Sam kinda wants to shoot him with his own gun. In the face.

***

They don't talk in the car. Dean keeps looking like he's going to start a conversation, but Sam just glares at him every time he opens his mouth and Dean gives up, cranks up the volume on the stereo and sings instead. Loud and off-key.

By the time they get back to the motel, Sam has at least gotten himself under control, and he no longer looks or feels like he's got a fucking iron rod in his pants.

Dean throws the keys on the table. "So, you ready to talk about last night yet?"

"Uh, no," Sam snorts, sitting down on the bed. "I really have zero desire hearing about how fucking awesome Redhead number 45673 was when you bent her over, so let's just move on, shall we?"

"Oh my God, you are so the jealous little wife." Dean laughs, "I'm not talking about her. I mean the plan I tried to bring up before you threw your tantrum last night."

"You wanna start throwing the 'j' word around, Dean?" Sam's jaw is tight, and his hands are in tight fists. "You may as well have just bashed me over the head in the diner and dragged me back to your cave. Oh wait a minute, you kinda did."

Dean shrugs.

"And your _plan_ , as you call it, is the most fucking insane idea I've ever heard in my life!"

"Just what the hell is wrong with my plan?" Dean lifts an arm up and sniffs.

"Classy." Sam grimaces. "What's _wrong_ with it? Where do I even start? Prison, Dean. You know what happens to guys like us in prison."

He walks over to the bench and gets himself a glass of water, drinks it all in one go. His mouth's dry as hell, and besides, it gives him something to concentrate on that isn't the single worst fucking idea Dean's ever had in his life. And there's been a whole heap of competition for that title.

It's Dean's turn to laugh. "I don't believe it. Sam Winchester, slayer of demons and spirits and goddamn everything else is scared of the 'Pen? Come on, dude. It's not the first time we've been inside, and look at yourself, you're not exactly fragile."

"That's not the point," Sam protests, "besides which, you're the one who's not a prison virgin. Juvie isn't even in the same ballpark." He fills his glass again, turns around to face Dean. "Anyway, I'm not scared."

Dean raises one eyebrow, and smirks. Sam wants to wipe that fucking self-satisfied expression off his face, because yeah. He is scared. Demons he can handle; being locked up with no weapons and a prison full of rapists and murderers who can't wait to get their hands on fresh meat, let alone fresh meat that looks like he and Dean do? Not so much. Sam isn't vain, but he knows that he isn't exactly unattractive. Sure, he's big and could easily take on a couple of guys at a time, but any more than that? Forget about it.

He remembers the time Dean's talking about so very clearly.

They'd been living in Rapid City at the time. John had been out of town helping Caleb out with a Poltergeist and Sam was having migraines. They'd run out of Excedrin, the only thing that worked when his head was pounding that hard. Dean'd tried everything, cool damp washcloth on his forehead, neck rub, but no dice, and the nearest drugstore had been miles away.

Dean hotwired a car they found in the parking lot. Unfortunately, their timing sucked and a police cruiser was passing by right as Dean managed to get the car started. They didn't even have time to run.

Ten days inside and Dean was an adult, so he ended up in Yankton. Sam? He was alone and fourteen and freaked the hell out. He wasn't as quick on his feet as Dean back then, and size and being good at hand-to-hand mean nothing when you've got one guy holding you down with some sharpened plastic thing at your neck, and another three beating on you.

Sam still has the scars from that charming little encounter.

Their Dad had said it was a good lesson for the two of them, but they hit the road pretty soon after that, Child Services were a little too interested in why they'd been left alone.

Sam didn't tell Dean the next time he had a migraine.

"Okay," he admits. He turns away from Dean, leans on the kitchen bench because it's easier not looking at him right now, "I am a little scared, so what?"

He feels, rather than sees Dean move in behind him. Can feel Dean's breath on his neck, Dean's hands at his waist and Sam can't help but lean back, craving the contact.

"I'd never let them touch you," Dean exhales, "Fucking never, Sammy."

"I can handle myself," Sam huffs, "don't need you to fight my battles for me."

Sam doesn't even have time to react because Dean's grabbing him, maneuvering him so Sam's pushed face first into the wall. Dean has one hand on his neck, and the other at his waist and Sam wants to protest that he isn't a girl, isn't there to be thrown around by Dean, but he can't deny the heat in the pit of his stomach either, so he just stays there, still.

"Didn't say you couldn't," Dean purrs into his ear, "But yeah. You should be scared, little brother. 'Cause all those boys are gonna take one look at you and it's gonna be open season."

Sam swallows, hard. Dean's hands are on his hips and he leans back, can feel Dean's cock pressing into him, hard, and Sam wants.

"Can't say as I blame them," Dean continues, scraping his teeth over the shell of Sam's ear, "You're a fucking walking wet dream with those big eyes and those long legs and that neck that's just made to be marked up. I'd wanna bend you over the nearest surface too, if it was me. Oh, that's right. I do."

Dean pulls both sides of Sam's shirt open by the snaps, and pulls it down, so it's sitting around his waist. Sam pulls his hands out of the cuffs, and shivers as he feels Dean sink his teeth into his neck.

Dean's so very jealous. Possessive as all hell. Sam thinks maybe he should flirt with waitresses more often.

"They won't have a chance though," Dean reaches around and shoves three fingers into Sam's mouth, "'cause they're all gonna know straight away who you belong to."

Sam wants to make Dean squirm the way Dean's making him, so he sucks them hungrily, going down on them the way he'd go down on Dean's cock. He scrapes his teeth over the knuckles, hears a sharp intake of breath, and he smiles around the fingers in his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that," Dean says, hint of something dangerous in his voice, "Get on the bed, Sam. Naked."

Dean's voice is low and growly and commanding and Sam swears he can feel it reverberate through his entire body. He wants to tell him to back off, tell him that Sam's not a fucking submissive bitch, but Sam really needs to get laid right now, so he does it anyway, taking his jeans and boxers off, and walking to the bed on bare feet.

"Face down," Dean rasps out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sam doesn't look back, just gets on his hands and knees, his head turned to one side, cheek pushed into the bed. He can feel Dean, now also naked, behind him.

"Y'know, if you were _my_ Prag, I'd have you like this every fucking minute of the day."

Sam's about to laugh, tell Dean he's been watching far too much Oz, but Dean has one hand in his hair, pulling just enough to hurt and he can feel Dean's fingers brushing over his hole, just teasing. They're slick with lube, and Sam has no fucking idea when that happened, but he's arching back, whimpering, and Dean huffs out a laugh.

"Oh who am I kidding?" Dean gets two of his fingers inside, and Sam groans. "You _are_ mine. I can do whatever I like with you, and you'll just take it like a good boy, won't you, Sammy?"

"You're enjoying this. Fuck. Way. Too. Much." Sam bites down on a groan when Dean starts to fuck him, fingers moving inside him and pulling all the way out before slamming back in, deep.

"I kinda am," Dean says, voice low and raw, "that'll teach you for hitting on sweet little diner waitresses now, won't it? I wish she could see you now, on all fours, and begging for it like you're desperate."

"You're such a. Christ." Sam groans as Dean's fingers push in deep and rough. "Control freak."

"Yeah. I'm good with that, too." Dean pulls his fingers out so fast it hurts. "Think you can take my cock now? Little bitch like you needs to know who he belongs to."

"For God's sake, Dean," Sam pants out, "you've been watching far too much porn. This isn't 'Falcon Studios 185: Bottoms Behind Bars' and I'm not your fucking bitch."

"Really?" Dean's voice is hushed, half-whispered. He grabs a handful of Sam's hair and pulls his head back. He kisses him, tongue pushing inside Sam's mouth and fucking him with it. Sam moans, and Dean bites at his bottom lip. "How about now?"

Dean has his other hand resting at Sam's waist, his thumb rubbing Sam's hipbone. "I'm not going to fuck you," Dean breathes into Sam's neck, "not even going to touch you till you beg me to."

"You're an asshole," Sam manages to get out, his voice strained and he can feel his cock, hard and ready, desperate for Dean's hand, his mouth, anything.

"I could leave you like this, just leave you on the edge and desperate for anyone to touch you. But I wouldn't let them, Sammy. I'd mark you so they knew who you belonged to."

Sam closes his eyes and can visualise Dean sucking bruises into his neck, scratching and biting and marking him everywhere and he chokes out,"Please."

Dean's hand moves lower, so close to Sam's cock it's painful and Sam feels like he's going fucking insane. He can't think, can't even breathe right and he's moving unconsciously, trying to rub himself against Dean's cock.

"Please ...?" Dean is smirking and that's clearly unfair. How the fuck is he allowed to think when he's got Sam so wound-tight that he can barely fucking form words?

"I. If you think I'm calling you 'Sir,' you are fucking high." Sam's head falls back as Dean grazes Sam's throat with his teeth.

"I didn't fuck her," Dean says, low-whispered and serious. "I got her off and then spent the night in the car."

"Fuck _me_ then," Sam says, mouth quirking into a grin, "please, Dean." He leans forward, rests on his arms, pushing his ass back. Dean lines up behind him, pushes in by inches and Sam forgets to breathe for a minute.

Sam can feel Dean moving inside him, pushing all the way in, then pulling out in the most perfect rhythm: slow and steady at first and then hard and fast, like he's trying to get deeper and deeper inside every time. Sam's back is slick with sweat, and they slide against each other as Dean gets his hands on Sam's waist and holds him in place, fucks him relentlessly.

"Feel so good," Dean groans, "always do. God, Sam."

Sam grips the headboard with one hand, using the leverage to push himself back onto Dean's cock, driving his own cock into his other fist in time with Dean's thrusts and Sam turns his head to suck Dean's tongue into his mouth. The angle's awkward and their kiss is wet and messy, but he doesn't care.

Sam can feel himself getting more desperate, more frantic and just one more stroke of his own hand and he's breathing into Dean's mouth, "Ah, fuck. Fuck," coming for what feels like minutes by the time he's stopped.

Dean fucks him through it, pushing Sam down with one hand on the back of his neck and pulling out just in time to come all over his ass and back, marking him. When he's finished, Dean licks his own come from Sam's skin, and that's so hot Sam can hardly believe it.

"So." Sam mumbles into the pillow, "I'd like to go on record as saying this is still a fucking stupid plan. Regardless of how well you just reamed my ass."

Dean lies down next to him, "It's an awesome plan and you know it. What could go wrong?"

Sam groans, eyes rolling back in his head, but for some reason that's even more unconscionable than Dean's stupidass plan, he knows he's going to go along with it.

When it comes to Dean? He's just that fucking easy.

 

end


End file.
